The Stained Glass Idyll
by Ellipsis and Shiva
Summary: Everybody wonders what it would be like to be Harry Potter and save the world. When Ginny accepts an assignment to hunt down the deadliest Death Eater at large, circumstances intervene and she begins to realise that it's not a world she needs to save...
1. Prologue

The Stained Glass Idyll 
    
    By Ellipsis and Shiva
    Rating: R
    Disclaimer: Most of this isn't ours. Some of it is. We are making no money. Steal and _die_!
    Warning: Angst, violence, torture, drug abuse, coarse language, adult themes and situations.
    Pairing: Draco/Ginny
    Summary: Ginny Weasley has watched Harry Potter save the world time and time again and wondered
    what it would be like. Draco Malfoy has watched the same and wished he could be the one to end
    Potter's winning streak. Ginny wants to make her mark on the world, Draco looses himself in the last place
    anyone would ever look for him.
    Then Ginny accepts an assignment to hunt down the most dangerous Death Eater at large and
    when circumstances intervene she begins to realise that it may not be a world she needs to save.
    Additional notes: Well, here's the Prologue of our collab fic. We'd like to thank Juice, Sarah Lily and Eva James   
    
    for their lovely work in betaing this section. Chapter One is written and will be coming to a location near you rather soonish.  
    
    The prologue may seem short, but believe us, Chapter One is insanely, incredibly long.

~~~~~

**** __

History is written by the winners, Draco thought, hiding in the bushes and staring at the Aurors raiding his home. _Children will read about us in twenty years, and they'll believe that Voldemort was a tyrant. If we'd won, he'd be a hero and a liberator. All the filthy mudbloods who would disagree would have been exterminated and we would be remembered as the heralds of a new, golden age._

Instead, Draco Malfoy, son and heir of the Malfoy estate, was running for his life. 

The catalogue of events leading up to this moment flashed through Draco's mind, a montage of utter destruction.

Four days ago, he'd helped his father torture and kill Remus Lupin, knowing that this would draw Harry Potter, the Gryffindor _wunderkind_, Dumbledore's pet and the joy of muggle lovers everywhere out of his hole. They'd sent the werewolf's carcass to Harry in five separate 'care' packages. The plan was to get him angry, because temper was always a Gryffindor's worst enemy.

Two days ago, they'd received Harry's reply in the form of a challenge. Lucius Malfoy had gone to the stated place and Draco had gone with him.

Draco had watched his father fall under a barrage of attacks from the thirty-odd cohorts of Harry's who were waiting for them. Draco had concealed himself, and then snuck away to tell Lord Voldemort.

__

I wonder how they'll justify that in the history books. That blatant foul play. They'll probably pass it off with some comment about how Death Eaters could never be trusted to be fair or how Potter was provoked beyond reason. The so-called good-guys always have an excuse.

One day ago, Harry, flushed from his success, presented himself at the entrance to Voldemort's secret residence. How he knew where it was, Draco would never know. Voldemort had emerged, enraged at Potter's effrontery. Around him were gathered his inner circle. Draco had stood in Lucius' rightful place.

What had ensued had been a heated battle, the final outcome of which being that Harry Potter had done the expected thing, and killed Voldemort. Draco's body had strained, wanting to rush forward and finish that sod Potter off while he was weak, but his mind had overruled him and as the Golden Boy's friends gathered around him, Draco knew he'd lost his chance. Instead of staying at the scene, he'd turned and run into the forest, making his way stealthily towards where his wand told him Malfoy Manor was.

This was the sight which had greeted him. Aurors in control of the mansion, dragging his heritage off and cataloguing it, the Daily Prophet announcing that Death Eaters were being hunted and persecuted across Britain. Of course, there were some things in the Manor that they would never be able to remove. In a distracted gesture, Draco's hand touched an object hanging on a chain under his shirt and he smiled slightly.

Draco knew he had to disappear. He'd bide his time, somewhere they'd never look for him. And when the time was right…

__

Maybe there'll even be a note about me. I hope so. I hope it says 'Harry Potter was tragically killed after the war ended by the formidable wizard Draco Malfoy, whose father Potter had murdered.'

This was his ultimate plan. He'd lost his first chance to snuff out that pesky little life, but he wouldn't waste his second. He would vanish for now, somewhere no one would ever find him then, in two years or ten, he'd return.

They say revenge is a dish best served cold.

One day, he would kill Harry Potter.

Turning from the chaos, he began to walk quickly away, vanishing into the evening.


	2. Chapter 1a

****

The Stained Glass Idyll – Chapter 1a

By Ellipsis and Shiva.  
Rating: R  
Disclaimer: Most of this isn't ours. Some of it is. We are making no money. Steal and _die_!  
Warnings: Angst, violence, torture, drug abuse, coarse language, adult themes and situations.  
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley  
Summary: Ginny Weasley has watched Harry Potter save the world time and time again and wondered what it would be like. Draco Malfoy has watched the same and wished he could be the one to end Potter's winning streak. Ginny wants to make her mark on the world, Draco looses himself in the last place anyone would ever look for him.   
Then Ginny accepts an assignment to hunt down the most dangerous Death Eater at large and when circumstances intervene she begins to realise that it may not be a world she needs to save.  
Additional Notes: Chapter 1 is coming to you in two parts because it's long. The more you review this half, the sooner we post next half. Is deal? :D

~~~~~

__

Date and time of arrest: 3rd February, 13:21

__

Location of Arrest: Knockturn Alley

__

Details of arrest:

Ginny Weasley tapped her quill on her desk and attempted, quite unsuccessfully, to stifle a large yawn.

"Not falling asleep on the job I hope, Gin?" an amused voice said, startling her.

She looked up to see the green eyes of Harry Potter, the Ministry's _numero uno_ Auror, smiling down at her.

" 'Course not," she drawled, smoothing the thick wad of parchment that lay ominously in front of her. "How _could _I fall asleep when I have all these thrilling forms to fill out?"

Harry chuckled. "We all have to start somewhere," he reasoned, "And besides, the paperwork is very important."

Ginny looked at him skeptically. She doubted that he had ever had to fill out an arrest form in his life. Such mundane tasks were not given to the likes of Harry Potter. "I guess you're right," she said with a sigh, "Still, it'd be nice to get some real action for once."

Harry leant against her desk casually, arms folded. "Well, I guess this is your lucky day. You see, the Ministry has dumped _another _missing war-criminal case on us, one that they've had lying around for almost two years already. Anyway to cut a long story short, I thought, and Kingsley agrees, that this would be a good first solo assignment for you. It should be interesting, and quite a coup, should you manage to carry it out."

Ginny looked up at him, eyes wide. "Are you serious? My own case? That's brilliant!" she squealed, jumping up to embrace him in an awkward hug.

Harry laughed again. "Woah, settle down. You haven't even heard what it is yet!"

Ginny grinned impishly up at him. "Oh, I don't care what it is. My very own assignment! I've been wanting this for ages. It's so exciting, I wouldn't care if I had to haul in a homicidal rapist," she paused, "I don't have to haul in a homicidal rapist do I?" she asked, only half-joking.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, a strange glint in his eyes. "Uh, no, not exactly. Your Mum would have me tarred and feathered is she thought I'd sent you after a mentally unhinged rapist. No, I'm almost certain he hasn't raped anyone." Harry's eyes unfocused, as if his mind had suddenly taken leave of his body.

"Harry?" Ginny asked nervously.

"Wha-, oh sorry Gin, what was I saying? Your assignment, right. Well, I'll let Kingsley brief you, you're expected in his office in about ten minutes." He straightened up. "I think you'll enjoy this assignment Gin. Congratulations," he said warmly, before turning to leave.

Ginny stared blankly after him. "Uh, thanks," she said, to no one in particular. She shook her head in wonder, and set out for the office of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Director and Chief of the Department of Aurors. _Impressive title for an equally impressive man, _Ginny thought with a wry smile. 

Ginny wound her way through the department's many corridors (which often changed and were peril to anyone not familiar with them) until she arrived at the thick mahogany door of Kingsley's office. She raised her hand to knock on the door but before she had the chance, it swung magically open to reveal the man himself, leaning back in his leather chair, a smug smile on his dark, handsome face.

"Ginny, nice to see you. Come in, take a seat."

Ginny stepped into his large office. It was a spacious room, with a crowded book case on one side of the room, an enormous desk in the middle and every inch of every surface covered with stacks of parchment, quills, folders and various other items. She wondered how he could bear to work in such a chaotic environment, but Kingsley looked like he was in his element.

"So," he said after she had sat, "You've been doing well Ginny. I've been quite impressed with your progress. Starting out as an Auror, particularly for women, is a difficult thing, but you've handled yourself well. I was especially impressed by your work in the illegal breeding of Chimeras case. You did some exceptional work there."

Ginny couldn't help herself, she beamed.

"So in light of your outstanding record, I have decided that you are ready for your first individual project." Kingsley paused, gave her an appraising look, then sighed. "You already know don't you?"

Ginny nodded, grinning sheepishly.

"That bloody Potter," Kingsley said jokingly, "Can't keep his mouth shut. Well, I'll spare you the rest of my speech; let's just get straight into it." He waved his wand, which had been resting on the table beside him, and a folder containing a several sheets of parchment appeared in front of him. 

"As you probably know, after the war, the Ministry of Magic formed a special branch of wizards to deal with the remaining Death Eaters. They were quite successful, though many of the Death Eaters were so broken by this point that they came with us willingly. The branch has all but disbanded now, despite several wanted Death Eaters still being at large, and that's where we come in. The Ministry feels obligated to still make some effort to find these wizards, some of whom have been missing for two years now, and you have the job of locating one of them." He opened the dog-eared file. "This Death Eater disappeared right after Voldemort fell. There hasn't been a single sighting of him since then, and the Ministry would have presumed him dead and given up the investigation had he not been such a influential member of the Dark Force."

Ginny felt a strange numbing sensation form in the bottom of her stomach. She had a bad feeling she might know the wizard Kingsley was talking about.

"This Death Eater was believed to be a part of Voldemort's very inner circle, and the Ministry are nervous about letting his disappearance go unchecked." He pushed the file in Ginny's direction. "The wizard in question is, of course, Draco Malfoy." 

Ginny's heart skipped a beat as she stared down at the fierce, scowling and impossibly handsome face in the picture in front of her. "Draco Malfoy?" she said weakly.

"Yes. I believe you were at school with him. He was in Harry's year wasn't he?"

Ginny nodded silently, her voice seemingly stuck in the back of her throat.

Kingsley gave her a hard look. "You will be able to deal with this case won't you Ginny? I gave it to you especially since you have prior knowledge of Malfoy. There aren't any problems are there?"

Ginny looked down, catching another glance of the dangerous face of Malfoy glaring up at her, and feeling more than a bit light-headed, she took a deep breath. She forced her eyes to meet Kingsley's. "No, there are no problems," she said, struggling to keep her voice from shaking, "I'll take this assignment."

Kingsley's face broke into a relived grin. "Excellent. Well, take that folder, it contains some basic information on Malfoy." Ginny took the folder and rose to leave. "Make sure you check in with the office every few days by owl, floo or in person."

Ginny nodded and she turned to walk out the door.

"Oh and Ginny?" She turned to face him. "Good luck."

She smiled. "Thanks." _I'll need it._

* * * * * * * * *

In spite of himself, Draco liked St Petersburg in the winter. As he huddled down in his expensive fur-lined overcoat, and felt the snowflakes melt gently on his cheeks, he almost felt lighter. 

Frowning, he brushed them irritably off. He didn't want to feel light.

Draco was sitting on the edge of the Anichkov Bridge, staring at the Palace. He did this often now—the Palace with its sartorial decadence fascinated him. Every day he woke up, showered and had a cup or three of coffee. Then he went for a rambling walk which from time to time ended here. Sometimes he smoked his first or second cigarette of the day. 

He sat here and he brooded. He replayed his father's death, but the memory had grown vague, like a video gone snowy with overuse. The Draco Malfoy his father had known would never have been aware of what a video was, but when one lived among muggles and immersed oneself in their culture, one had to cling to the small compensations. One was TV. The other was hard drugs.

Wizards had no use for drugs. Spells and potions did the job adequately. However, for Draco, nothing could match the embrace of the little white pill as it settled in his stomach and began its work. Then the hallucinations and the euphoria carried him away.

Draco knew that every day he ingested a lethal cocktail of substances, what with the caffeine, nicotine, alcohol and the others. Somewhere in his mind, he justified it as part of 'The Plan'—Draco's ultimate plot to have revenge on the Boy Who Lived While Others Died. One day soon, Draco would come up with the key to penetrating Potter's security, then he would break through and the last thing Harry Potter would see would be Draco's face and a green flash of light.

Of course, Draco was not fool enough to think he could escape after this. Within seconds, alerted by Draco's magic, the Ministry would swarm the site like flies to dung. This was where the drugs featured. Draco knew that he was slowly killing his body. Soon it would be too late to reverse the damage. When he killed Harry Potter, he would be thrown into Azkaban, but little would the Dementors know that soon he'd be dead, released by his own body. Then he could join his father in the afterlife with _pride_.

Draco stood up, extinguishing his cigarette and flicking the butt into the Fontanka River. He stood up and ambled off, ignoring the annoyed looks he got from passers-by. His mind was lingering on an encounter he had had earlier in the week. He would have to move on soon, if he didn't want to get found. 

He had realised this because someone had found him. A couple of people he had known at school, in fact. They had been a grade above him—Ellivia Gray and Aidan Blackstone.

He had been wandering around the Nevsky Prospekt when someone had yelled his name from the other side of the street. He swung around, dropping into a crouch, ready to run.

"Draco!"

His eyes had eventually located the person yelling his name. He hadn't immediately recognised the two figures hurrying towards him, as both were swathed from head to toe in warm clothing. Then Ellivia had pulled off her muffler and he had recognised the coppery brown hair and black-green eyes.

"Ellivia," it had almost been a hiss.

Of course, knowing that it was Ellivia Gray he spoke to, he realised who the other figure must be. Ellivia was never seen without her best friend and protector, Aidan Blackstone. This knowledge was verified when Aidan removed his beanie revealing sandy blonde hair which complimented his midnight blue eyes. Draco and Aidan were actually second cousins, but very little love was lost between the two branches of the family, and they didn't hold any filial respect for each other at all.

Draco had never fully trusted these two, for all they had both been Slytherins. Ellivia had been known as the White Sheep, for although she was in Slytherin, she was nice to everyone no matter their house or the stigma attached to them. Draco was a firm believer in the old adage: _Everyone craves power_—_it's those who hide it that you need to fear. _Of course, as a Malfoy, he feared no one, but he mistrusted Ellivia. There had to be a reason she had been put in Slytherin. As for Aidan, he was the Hogwarts Whore, and everyone knew he danced to Ellivia's tune.

Now she was hugging him, exclaiming that they had all been so worried and why hadn't he contacted them? Calmly he explained that he was in hiding because he didn't want the Ministry to know he was alive.

Ellivia nodded solemnly.

"We wont tell, Draco," she said seriously. "Will we, Aidan?"

Aidan shook his head.

"Anyway," Ellivia continued. "Will you come and have coffee with us, Draco? Delightful stuff, coffee. Nothing in else the world quite equals it."

Draco conceded that this was very true. Although he didn't really want to talk to Ellivia and Aidan for any longer, he had found himself bustled into the nearest coffee shop before he knew it.

"So, cuz," said Aidan, leaning over. "What have you been doing with yourself?"

Draco shrugged and looked at his mug.

"Oooh…" Aidan rolled his eyes. "You've been flogging yourself for failing Lucius, castigating yourself for failing You-Know-Who, and blaming yourself for the fact that Potter still lives, breathes and has all his fingers."

"Shut-up, Aidan, don't antagonise him," Ellivia was reproachful.

Draco scowled at Aidan. "And what are _you_ doing here, _cuz_?" he sneered.

Aidan shrugged. "Shopping. I owe Ellivia a present from her birthday."

"Which was over a month ago," Ellivia added, rolling her eyes. "I was thinking about making him buy me a nice apartment around here somewhere."

Aidan winced, causing Draco to smirk. "That sounds _lovely,_ Ellivia."

Out of curiosity, which he intended to firmly suppress later, Draco asked, "What is happening in England?"

Ellivia frowned. "Well, Death Eaters are still being hunted outrageously. They've brought just about all the ones with Dark Marks in—because they were pretty widely known, even after the marks vanished— and some of the underlings who were uninitiated. They're harder to find, of course.

"They haven't brought you in though, I see."

"I never had a Dark Mark, did I?"

"Yet while I was there you were Lord Voldemort's left-hand."

"I don't know where you got that idea," Ellivia said primly. "Aidan and I stayed out of the War. It was none of our business." Ellivia made a little face then smiled.

"Pumpkin, we should be going," Aidan said warningly.

Ellivia sighed. "You're right," she said. "Well, Draco, it's nice to know you're still alive. Take care. No doubt we'll meet again eventually."

Draco stood, kissed Ellivia politely on the cheek, then shook Aidan's hand. Outside the coffee shop they went in different directions.

Recalling himself to the present, Draco brushed more snowflakes off his face. He was still troubled by his meeting with those remnants of his former life, and more so by the thought that other, less benevolent characters might find him here too.

As if his image was conjured by the thought, Draco saw a very familiar head in the crowd coming towards him. At first he tried to deny it, but the sombre auburn hair, the burning chestnut brown eyes, the pallid skin and the overly luscious red lips made it impossible. Tybalt Mephisto, a low-level flunky of Lord Voldemort's with a serious case of biggest-kid-in-the-playground syndrome was coming towards him. Heart pounding, Draco swung into the nearest doorway and ducked out of sight. He had no doubt that if Tybalt had seen him, he would take it straight to the Ministry of Magic, especially if the information could buy him lenience and a pardon to return to England.

Either way, he had to leave St Petersburg. Three old acquaintances in two weeks presented dangerous odds. 

After about five minutes, he snuck out of the door and made is way to the hotel. He called the airport and booked a seat on the next available flight out of Russia. He only hoped it would be soon enough.

Hailing a taxi, he looked for the last time with slight regret at inner-city St Petersburg. 

__

It is just as well, he thought, feeling melancholy._ I was getting too attached to this city anyway._

* * * * * * * * *

Ginny dragged herself up the stairs to the entrance of her townhouse and pushed the door open. She walked through the living room, ignoring the small stack of post that was lying on the coffee table and, dropping her leather bag to the floor, collapsed in her favourite chair. Pushing her shoes off her long-suffering feet, she sank into the comfortably worn fabric. 

Ginny loved this time of day, late afternoon, just before twilight. It was one of the few times during the day when she got a moment to herself. Her flat mates, Colin Creevey and Orla Quirke, got home at varying times during the evening, due to their chosen careers. Orla was the manager of a small nightclub in one of the few Wizarding districts of London, while Colin was a photographer/journalist for the Daily Prophet.

Ginny's moment of relaxation was interrupted when she heard the door slam and the sound of footsteps on the wooden floor of the entranceway. It wasn't the stiletto-heeled shoes of Orla she heard, which meant it could only be one person. Sure enough, in the doorway of the living room appeared a pair of expensive leather loafers, the preferred footwear of her best friend Colin.

"Ginny honey," he said, surveying her exhausted form, "You look buggered."

Ginny smiled at the very sight of him, dressed impeccably as always in well-fitting black slacks and a deep blue shirt, a similar shade to his eyes. His brown hair was styled so that a thin wisp of it fell invitingly over his face. He pushed said strand back from his forehead before walking over and seating himself in the chair next to hers. 

"Rough day?"

Ginny sighed, more deeply than she had intended to. "Rough isn't really the right word. I had a…challenging day."

Colin raised an eyebrow. "Challenging? In what way?"

"Well, I got a new assignment today," she said, smoothing her hair behind her ear. "My first unaccompanied case."

Colin's face lit up. "Why Ginny, that's fabulous!"

She nodded. "Yes, yes," she said, cutting short his celebrations, "That was my initial reaction as well. Then I found out what my task actually is." She reached down to her bag beside her, pulled out the beige folder and handed it to Colin. She watched him as he flipped through it, surprise and then realisation dawning on his face. He took his time, flipping through all the pages, and when he was done, he looked up at Ginny, his face full of concern. "Oh Gin, what are you going to do?"

Ginny took the folder back and carefully placed it on the table next to her. "There's nothing much I can do, Colin. This is what it's like to be an Auror, I guess. You get cases that you don't want to deal with, that touch on a nerve, but you have to go through with them or else you'll never improve. I have to at least try to do this."

"But, Malfoy, he's such a terrible person, he's done such awful things it's very dangerous isn't it?"

Ginny looked away briefly, attempting to ignore that now-familiar sinking feeling that appeared in the bottom of her stomach every time Malfoy was mentioned. "Well, my job is not to apprehend him, rather just to track him down, so in theory I may not even come into contact with him." _Theory is often very different from practice._

Colin nodded. "That's true, and I suppose there is one good thing about all of this," he said, his eyes resting on the picture of Malfoy that lay open on the table.

Ginny followed his eyes. "Oh? And what's that?"

"Well, Malfoy, he's dead gorgeous isn't he?"

Ginny let out a shocked laugh. "Colin!" she cried, hurling a throw pillow at him, "He's a murderer, a torturer of furry animals and small children."

"Who has a really good arse," Colin added. 

Ginny snorted. "You can't even see his arse in that picture."

Colin leant back in his chair, a knowing look on his face. "Trust me Gin, Draco Malfoy has a great arse."

"Well, I suppose I'll find out first hand, should I manage to find him. I'll take a picture for you if you like," she joked.

Colin grinned. "Excellent."

__

* * * * * * * * *

__

Draco rested his head against the window of the plane. It had just landed and all the passengers were eagerly competing to get out of the plane and into the airport terminal. The old lady next to him, who had chattered in that oblivious, careless way that some old ladies will do, to Draco all the way from St. Petersburg leaned over and patted his arm.

"Dearie, we're at the terminal."

Draco gritted his teeth and nodded, trying to ignore her. 

The poor deluded woman seemed to think they were kindred spirits after he had spoken, making a token effort at politeness, to tell her that he just wanted to be left alone. She had recognised his accent and exulted for a full half-hour over the joy of hearing an English accent after so many years of speaking Russian or hearing Russian-accented English. Draco was deriving no such enjoyment from her Cockney waffling and was actually insulted, in a disinterested sort of way, that she dared to assume that she, a common class woman and he, an aristocrat of the highest order, even disregarding the wizarding blood, could have anything in common.

He had been amazed that she could even afford to fly first-class until she had revealed that the trip had been a gift from her daughter and son-in-law to honour her seventieth birthday. He had smiled politely.

After that he had tuned his headphones into the jazz station on the aeroplane radio. Draco liked jazz music, that and classical. He liked the raw emotion, especially when it was dark, that flowed through the pieces without their being so contrived and marketed as the popular music. 

The plane cleared, taking the irritating old woman with it, and when it was at last completely empty, he pulled his carry-on back from the overhead compartment and exited.

He didn't even know what airport he was at. All he knew was that it was somewhere to the south or east of St. Petersburg. He went up to the desk and asked the lady what the next flight he could book one first-class ticket on was.

Draco pretty swiftly identified his location from the desk clerk, who was Asian and had a cute slightly sailor-girl uniform on. She spoke with in heavily accented English, and he identified the accent fairly easily. A quick glance at the flight monitors confirmed his guess. He was in Japan. Tokyo, to be more precise, in the foyer of Narita International Airport.

He picked the first flight the clerk offered him, with some vague curiosity. 

Brisbane, Australia. He had never heard of it, which was encouraging, because it meant it was likely that nobody else had either. His British passport would probably do him more good than his Russian one in Australia, so he produced it when the woman prompted him.

Soon he was on a plane again. It was a long flight, but he was comforted by the hope that this would be the last. 

However, on reaching Brisbane Airport, he decided it would be unsuitable. It was a pretty preemptory decision, mainly spurred by the fact that a place in a pamphlet on the plane had taken his fancy. He went up to the desk.

"If I wanted to go to… Vanuatu, how would I go about it?" he demanded of the attendant.

__

* * * * * * * * *

__

Ginny awoke the next morning to the soft pitter-patter of rain on her tiled roof. Rolling over onto her side, she watched as droplets of water splashed gently onto the windowpane and slid smoothly down the glass at varying speeds. Ginny always felt sorry for the droplets of water that got left behind, the ones that were stuck laboring along the surface while the others sped down with impressive speed. She sighed and snuggled under her thick blanket. The rain was oddly unseasonable for January, although it sometimes seemed to rain endlessly in London at other times of the year. 

As she lay in bed, letting herself sink into the mattress, the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted into her room, delighting her senses and igniting an internal battle; coffee versus bed. In the end the temptation of the aromatic coffee won out and Ginny pushed back her covers, slipped into her blue slippers and her old flannelette dressing gown and padded down the stairs to the kitchen. On one of the stools that rested by the breakfast bar sat Orla Quirke, coffee in hand, reading the paper. Ginny yawned loudly causing Orla to look up from her paper and smile, eyes clouded with weariness.

"Morning Gin. How ya going?" she said, voice hoarse and strained.

"I'm fine," she replied, taking in Orla's rumpled black mini dress and disheveled blonde hair, "But you look wrecked. When did you get home last night?"

Orla drained the last of her coffee and looked at the clock that hung above the oven. "Oh, about half an hour ago. The club was crazy last night; I mean it always is this time of year, what with the tourists and all, but last night was ridiculous."

Ginny nodded sympathetically while edging towards the pot of coffee that sat alluringly near the sink. "But if you only got home a half hour ago, why are you having coffee? Don't you need to get some sleep? Because you look like you could sleep for a week."

"It's decaf," she said, buttering herself some toast. 

Ginny's hand, which had been reaching for the pot, froze. "It's what?"

Orla looked up and laughed at the absolute horror on Ginny's face. "The good decaf, you know in the silver packet?"

Ginny looked at her skeptically. "The Moroccan stuff? Freshly ground?"

Orla nodded, her mouth full of toast. "Of course," she said after swallowing, "I wouldn't dare brew anything else, I know what you and Colin are like."

Ginny sniffed the coffee suspiciously.

"Oh for Christ's sake Ginny, just drink it! There's nothing wrong with it."

Ginny gave her roommate a quick grin, poured herself a large mug and shuffled over to join her.

Once settled in her chair, she took a sip of her drink, taking longer than necessary to swallow and consider the taste.

Orla was watching her, half amused, half frustrated. "Well?"

Ginny placed her mug on the bench with great care. "Not bad," she said, "As far as decaf goes."

Orla threw the crust of her toast at her. "You are such a pain in the arse," she said with a laugh.

Ginny picked up the crust and threw it right back at her. "Yeah, but you love me anyway."

"Mmm, though you do give me cause to wonder sometimes," she mused.

Ginny smiled into her coffee; it was actually pretty good, despite the lack of caffeine. "Are you working tonight?" she asked.

Orla nodded. "I start at four this afternoon."

"Four? But you'll barely get any sleep. They can't make you do that can they?"

"No they can't. But tonight is different, there's a function at the club, one that I've helped organize, so I want to be there for it."

"A function eh?" Ginny said, raising an eyebrow, "What type of function?"

"A twenty-first." Orla stood up and took her mug to the sink.

"Anyone I know?"

Orla leaned against the sink, facing Ginny. She looked to Ginny like she was going to fall asleep right there and then. "Grace McDonald. You may have known her sister Natalie. She was in my year, but in Gryffindor."

The name sounded familiar, but then her time at Hogwarts often seemed like eons ago. "Uh, was she really short? With long brown hair?"

Orla nodded. "Yep that's the one. Only about five foot. Her sister Grace is two years younger than her, looks almost exactly the same, but was in Hufflepuff. I always used to get them confused, even though Natalie was in my year."

"Yeah, I'm not sure I remember Grace, but then I may have seen her around and just assumed she was Natalie."

Orla yawned. "I think that's what a lot of people did."

Ginny looked at her friend closely. "Go to bed Orla, you need to get some sleep," she said maternally.

"I won't argue with you there," she said, rubbing her eyes and turning towards the stairs. "Night."

"You mean Morning," Ginny said with a smile.

"Ah, yeah, whatever," she mumbled sleepily before disappearing up the stairs.

After her friend's departure, Ginny ate a leisurely breakfast before carefully perusing the Daily Prophet. She read a piece on the upcoming Quidditch final between Puddlemere United and the Chudley Cannons, which her brother Ron would not stop talking about, and a cute little story by Colin on the new Wizarding Bachelor of the Year, Justin Finch-Fletchley. Justin had edged out the obvious reigning champion, Harry Potter, by a nose. _I thought he was gay_, Ginny mused, glancing down at the beaming face of the young politician. _In fact, I'm sure he and Colin…oh well, I suppose what the public doesn't know can't hurt them_.

She put her dishes in the sink and decided it was high time that she got dressed. One of the definite plusses of having her own case was the flexible working hours, but if she wasn't careful Ginny knew she could waste a whole day pottering around the house, which is not something she could afford to do, especially since she had an appointment to see the special-tasks Auror who was previously in charge of the Malfoy case. She tiptoed up the stairs to her bedroom, mindful of her sleeping housemates, and pulled out of her cupboard her favourite pair of jeans and a knitted, blue jumper. She pulled her unruly red hair into a ponytail at the base of her neck and grabbed her leather bag and her matching blue scarf and gloves that her mother had knitted for her two Christmases ago. After giving her room a once over, making sure everything was relatively tidy, she made her way back down the stairs, trying unsuccessfully to muffle the sound of her four-inch heeled boots on the wooden floor. She walked to the entrance hall window and peaked out the curtains to take in the stormy sky. She looked from the ominous grey clouds and rain, which had gotten steadily worse since she had woken up, to her trusty old Firebolt that sat in the corner, begging to be ridden. It would be ludicrous to go flying in this weather, suicidal even. She gave her broom one last longing look before closing her eyes and Apparating to the Auror office in Oxford.


	3. Chapter 1b

****

The Stained Glass Idyll – Chapter 1b

By Ellipsis and Shiva.  
Rating: R  
Disclaimer: Most of this isn't ours. Some of it is. We are making no money. Steal and _die_!  
Warnings: Angst, violence, torture, drug abuse, coarse language, adult themes and situations.  
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley  
Summary: Ginny Weasley has watched Harry Potter save the world time and time again and wondered what it would be like. Draco Malfoy has watched the same and wished he could be the one to end Potter's winning streak. Ginny wants to make her mark on the world, Draco looses himself in the last place anyone would ever look for him.   
Then Ginny accepts an assignment to hunt down the most dangerous Death Eater at large and when circumstances intervene she begins to realise that it may not be a world she needs to save.  
Additional Notes: Well, here's the rest of it!

~~~~~

Ginny hitched the strap of her bag up onto her shoulder and knocked lightly on the glass door of the office of Ernest Wilberforce.

"Come in," a voice rasped. Ginny walked in, quietly shutting the door behind her and surveyed the office in front of her. It was small, about a quarter of the size of Kingsley's and equally as messy. The walls were bare, except for a picture of a woman and two young boys, presumably the Wilberforce family. In the center of the room, behind a cluttered desk, made out of cheap pine, the kind that all the less important Ministry officials were commissioned with, sat a middle-aged man, with graying hair and a weathered face.

"Mr. Wilberforce?" Ginny asked politely, moving closer to the desk.

The man stood up. "Yes that's right. You must be Miss Weasley. Please take a seat."

"Thanks," she replied, seating herself and placing her bag on the floor next to her.

"So," Mr. Wilberforce said, folding his arms across his chest, "You're the lucky Auror who gets to take up the Malfoy case?"

"Yes that's right," Ginny said, slightly put off by his cynical tone.

"I'm glad to be rid of it," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh? Why is that?"

He leaned forward, placing his hands on his desk. "I take it you haven't been an Auror for very long Miss Weasley?"

Ginny nodded. "I joined the force a bit over two years ago." 

"Well I've been an Auror for over thirty years, I've survived both the Voldemort wars and their aftermaths, which in many ways, is the hardest time for Aurors. During my time I have had several cases that have reached a complete dead end, where there were no leads and where no new information ever turned up. Cases that are so bloody frustrating, my hair goes grey just thinking about them. This is one of those cases. I'll be glad to wash my hands of it and get on with some work that may actually be able to produce results."

Ginny raised her eyebrows, taken aback. This was not what she wanted to hear. "Do you mean to say that I have been sent on some kind of wild goose chase?" she asked, a note of indignation clear in her voice.

Wilberforce opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again, looking at her closely. "It is not my place to say Miss Weasley. I will say this though." He crossed his arms across his chest. "No one knows if Malfoy is dead, personally I think he is, or if he _is_ alive, he is hidden by a practically impenetrable anti-tracking charm. He disappeared without a trace, as many of Voldemort's followers did after he was defeated, most of who have since been confirmed dead. I personally don't think you have a chance in hell of finding him, but I will help you in anyway I can."

Ginny leaned back in her chair, processing this information. "Okay," she said after a moment's silence, "What can you give me?"

Wilberforce smiled at the defiant look on her face. He opened the filling cabinet behind him and pulled out a thick folder and a small wooden box. He placed the file on the desk.

"This is for you," he said, nodding at the folder, "It contains everything you ever wanted to know about Malfoy and some things you didn't. A lot of the stuff is basic, though you may find some of it useful." 

Ginny took the folder and flipped through it. He was right, it was completely comprehensive. There was a copy of Malfoy's birth certificate, a copy of his Hogwart's record—it turned out Malfoy was a decent student—as well as medical and criminal records, both of which were fairly lengthy, and his Apparation license.

"What's this?" she asked, holding out a page full of numbers.

"His bank records," Wilberforce replied, taking the page from her. "This column here is the account number, this is the account balance and last date of withdrawal."

Ginny looked at the sheet in his hands. There was one lone number, in the left hand corner of the page. "What about that?" she said pointing to the number.

Wilberforce shrugged. "Probably some account related business, a password or something. Bank records are never much help. Most wizards have a private stash of money separate from the banks anyway. The Malfoy's never did have a problem with money. Nevertheless all his Wizarding bank accounts—and there are quite a few—have been tagged and you'll be informed if he uses any of them."

Ginny nodded slowly, but didn't dismiss the mystery number straight away. There was something about it that looked vaguely familiar, the odd pattern of numbers, she sensed she had seen something like it before. She took the page from Wilberforce and stuffed the folder in her bag, before turning her attention to the small box sitting on the table.

"And this is?" she asked, her curiosity roused once more.

Wilberforce picked the box up and flicked the lid open. "A Portkey."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "This Portkey wouldn't happen to take me directly to Malfoy would it?" she asked hopefully.

Wilberforce shook his head. "Nope, but it'll take you to his former residence."

"Oh?"

Wilberforce took a flat piece of metal, a bit smaller than a Galleon, and walked over to Ginny's side of the desk. "Malfoy Manor of course." 

* * * * * * * * *

This new place was good, Draco thought, as he stared out of the window of his five-star bungalow into the pouring rain. It was a change from St Petersburg and he had taken two planes, a train and a ferry to get here. He doubted they would ever find him here, among the muggle tourists who he itched to kill with every breath. 

He was painfully aware of the unkempt state of his person. He hadn't stopped moving for the last thirty-six hours and he was in dire need of bathing. He located the shower and turned the taps on while he dragged the damp, soiled clothes off his body. Stepping under the hot, running water was an epiphany and Draco almost expired with relief as he located some soap and set about washing all the stress and grime off his skin.

Draco was wandering out of the bathroom after his shower, when his attention was captured by his reflection. Once he had checked his appearance every time he passed a mirror. These days he didn't have time for reflections, and rarely noticed it. 

Today he stopped and turned, facing the mirror full-on. His damp blond hair clung messily to his scalp and he had a towel wrapped carelessly low around his hips. 

His hair, he noted absently, was getting long again, caressing his chin at the front and his shoulders at the back. He'd have to get it cut soon, or else tie it back in a ponytail.

He wondered if women still found him attractive. They had in his school days, he remembered. Even after that, he had thought, as he studied his face in the mirrors at Malfoy Manor, that the war and maturity had given his pointed features a certain sharp strength, given his mouth a determined slant. 

Now he looked at himself, taking in the slightly slanted grey eyes, the aristocratic nose and the generous lower lip. He hated this face. It was soft and weak. It was the face of a boy, or a woman. Not one of a man.

His gaze moved to his chest, noticing distractedly the myriad scars gathered over his years at home, the war and what came after. He noted the barely defined pectorals, fading into a prominently visible ribcage and slender hips. It was a weak body, one to match the face. One which couldn't do the simplest task, but instead promised disappointment.

Draco's perfect effeminate lip curled in revulsion. 

* * * * * * * * *

Although the rain had subsided, the clouds overhead were as dark and threatening as ever. The wind had also picked up and was whipping Ginny's hair around her face. She pulled her coat tight, and looked up at the house that stood before them. Ginny supposed it was a house, as it performed the same purpose as a house, but she had never seen a building that looked anything less like an ordinary house. It was the size of a small castle, made entirely of dark stone, with sinister statues and towers sticking oddly out of the structure. She guessed that it was hundreds of years old, but there was no way of telling for, although the architecture and design of the place seemed almost medieval, the grounds and the building itself were in perfect condition. The lawn was immaculate, and the rows of vines and trees that ran along the side of the estate looked as if they were pruned regularly. Ginny turned her head and gasped. Behind her, stretching for as far as she could see was miles and miles of green countryside, the type described in picture books. Rolling hills and green paddocks, thick forests simply begging to be explored, it was astoundingly beautiful. She breathed in the crisp, fragrant air and instantly fell in love. In years to come she would remember her first trip to Malfoy Manor and savor the awakening her senses experienced at that very moment. 

"Where are we?" Ginny asked, still gazing in awe at the vastness of the land.

Wilberforce, who was wearing a large grey trench coat and a little tweed hat, put the Portkey safely in his pocket before replying. "Near Wolverhampton. Not too many miles from the Welsh border. Beautiful isn't it?"

Ginny nodded. Beautiful really didn't cover it. It was breathtaking. _To think such gorgeous surroundings could foster such wretched human beings_. A shiver went down her spine as she turned back to the Manor.

"You ready then?" Wilberforce asked.

Ginny shoved her hands into her coat pockets and nodded. "Lead the way."

"That's the main dinning room," Wilberforce said, pointing to a large doorway that opened into a room that was about the size of Ginny's entire apartment. The inside of the Manor was as spectacular as the outside, if not more so. The walls were high and adorned with expensive looking paintings and portraits. The ceiling was finished with an elaborate plaster cornice and in several of the rooms hung an enormous silver chandelier. There were vases in the house that Ginny had no doubt cost more than a year's worth of her salary. 

"I tell you," she said, as they passed a display cabinet holding what looked like an antique sword, "I'd have hated to live here when I was growing up. I'd be constantly afraid I was going to break something."

__

Which was never a problem at the Burrow, as more often than not, everything was already broken.

"Yeah, and for some reason, I don't think Lucius would have been very understanding about it if you had," Wilberforce replied.

"No, not at all," she said, thinking of the few encounters she had had with that thoroughly unpleasant man. _Unpleasant? Try down right evil._

They had reached a large circular room that had several corridors running off it, and a spiral staircase in the center. It was a bizarrely shaped room, not at all practical, but then in a house like this, Ginny reasoned, practicality wasn't a high priority. Wilberforce went to straight to the staircase.

"After he graduated from school, Malfoy Junior moved from his second floor room, and set up camp in the dungeons," he explained as he began descending the stone staircase.

Ginny followed, taking in the deep gunmetal grey of the stone walls that made the area both beautiful and imposing. "I suppose after being in Slytherin, dungeons were the only thing that felt like home," she remarked.

"Hell," Wilberforce muttered, "I wouldn't mind living in a dungeon either if it looked like this."

The space in front of them was not at all like Ginny expected. Unlike the damp, dark environment of the Hogwarts' dungeons, these were surprisingly well lit with many candles and tastefully decorated with mahogany furniture and high-backed cushioned chairs. It was the most comfortable looking area of the house Ginny had seen yet, and she could understand why someone would want to live here. It was somehow less showy, less ostentatious than the rest of the house. There was a simplicity in the angles and colours of the room that made Ginny relax a little. 

""It is kind of nice down here," Ginny admitted, going over to a large tapestry that hung on the wall opposite the fireplace. It was the first tapestry she had seen in the Manor so far. The Malfoy's seemed more like portrait people; tapestries didn't seem grand or expensive enough for their tastes, too quaint perhaps. But the one that hung on the far right wall of the dungeon was lovely and somehow vaguely familiar. She looked closer and it struck her.   
_Of course, 'The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black', it's the same as the one that used to hang on the wall of Sirius' house. _  
As far as Ginny knew, Harry had had that tapestry destroyed after he had moved into the house, which Sirius had left to him. It was interesting to see that another one, almost an exact replica in fact, existed.   
"That's from Draco's mother's side of the family, as you can see by the Black family crest the on the left hand corner. No doubt it was a family heirloom that Lucius wasn't too fond of and banished to the dungeons," Wilberforce explained, coming up behind her.   
Ginny nodded. It was odd seeing something she had always associated with Sirius in the Malfoy's house, it made her feel strangely uncomfortable   
"So," she said, eager to change the subject, "What's that?" she asked, pointing to a small wooden trapdoor that was set in the far wall.

"Ah," Wilberforce said with a little smile, "That harmless little door is the entrance to the Malfoy safe, in which lies a large portion of the Malfoy fortune."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Oh? How did you get in there? Surely it's protected."

Wilberforce let out a snort. "Protected? Honey, you have no idea. It took fifteen of the best curse breakers, six Aurors and two weeks to get past the hexes, curses and other nasty stuff that guarded that damn vault. And we still haven't been able to remove the money from the Manor. That goes for most of the stuff here, the magic's just too powerful."

"I can imagine," Ginny said. There was no doubting that a family like the Malfoy's would have pretty tight security around their fortune.

"Do you want to see it?"

"See it? As in the fortune?" Ginny asked.

Wilberforce nodded.

__

Do I really want to have the mountains of gold and riches that lie behind that door rubbed in my face?

"Ah, no, I think I'll be alright," Ginny replied.

Wilberforce shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, moving over to one of the high backed chairs, "It's pretty bloody impressive though, I'd never seen anything like it."

"I'll bet," she said, moving over to the chair next to him, but not having the nerve to sit down.

"Millions of Galleons worth of stuff I'd say, unbelievable really. Wall to wall gold, there isn't an inch of space to fit anything else in," he gushed.

"Mmm," Ginny murmured again, "Well, the Malfoys had to live the life of luxury, didn't they?" 

"But of course," Wilberforce said, heavily placing his feet on the expensive-looking chest that lay before them, "And such a life does not come cheaply."

"No," Ginny said thoughtfully, "It certainly doesn't."

* * * * * * * * *

Draco took in the scene in front of him. Three thugs had stepped out of the shadows and were eyeing him menacingly. He knew they were spoiling for a fight, possibly more. He also knew that he stood no chance of winning by himself—a skinny weak man against two overly muscled ruffians and their rat-faced leader. Calmly he lit a cigarette and took a drag, then he dropped it on the ground where it lay smoldering. There were people like this everywhere, he reflected. He'd gotten in his share of fights in St Petersburg too, and by luck—whether good or bad—had managed to survive them with only his collection of scars to show for it. 

The leader—Rat-face—flushed angrily at Draco's nonchalance, unaware that Draco was mentally withdrawing as he always did when running away was not an option. Draco knew he deserved the pain he was about to be dealt and it would continue to be his due until he avenged his father's death and that of Lord Voldemort.

"What do you want?" he asked in a dead voice.

Rat-face, taking umbrage at this disinterested question, smiled meanly.

"Just a little fun," he replied.

Draco realised from the stranger's accent that he was not a local. In fact, Rat-face was most likely an American.

Figured.

At his cue, his two followers moved towards Draco who tensed, anticipating the pain. Number One held him, while the other punched him hard in the chest. Straight away, Draco felt a crack and then a searing pain that told him that one of his ribs was fractured. On the tail of the pain came a pleasure brought on by the belief that every time he suffered, a little bit of his debt for his cowardice was repaid. He smiled.

Rat-face's eyes narrowed. Number One, holding Draco's arms behind his back, squeezed his elbows together until Draco thought his shoulder would dislocate. He screamed and Number One released his arms and let him drop to the ground where he curled in fetal position. Number Two kicked him savagely in the stomach.

A rain of punches and kicks assailed him, but he rode them, watching Rat-face's countenance become redder and redder. Finally Rat-face called off his cronies and strode towards where Draco knelt. He watched Draco struggle to his feet. When they were eye to eye, Rat-face swung back his arm and punched Draco hard on the cheekbone. Draco swayed but remained standing, staring expressionlessly at his abuser.

Voices echoed at the end of the alleyway.

Rat-face's mouth screwed up and he glared poisonously at Draco with fury and frustration etched onto his features. Draco knew there was much more Rat-face would have liked to do to him. The beating had just been 'foreplay'. 

Finally, as the owners of the voices came around the corner, Rat-face smiled sickly.

"Good-bye, my pretty." He said, producing a knife out of his jacket. Like quicksilver, he plunged the knife into Draco's abdomen and yanked it out. Then he and his cronies ran away.

Draco was drowning, but it was a delicious drowning. When he crumpled, the impact of his shoulder on the ground caused a light show to illuminate the haze clouding his brain.

He was dimly aware of screams, then vague humanoid shapes. Later he noticed a white ceiling and a man in which bending over to take his temperature. He floated in the darkness until he was returned, unwillingly, to his body.

A nurse was leaning over. She smiled when he opened his eyes and blinked them hazily a few times.

"What's your name dear?" she asked kindly.

"Dra—" Draco began, then remembered himself and fell silent. 

He wasn't Draco Malfoy in the eyes of the world.

* * * * * * * * *

"So the Malfoy place was amazing then?" Colin asked as he brought the glasses of pumpkin juice and the plate of scones out onto the patio. The patio at the back of their townhouse was a place where the three housemates often spent time together. It a was small area and the blue paint was chipping of the most of the railings, but it looked out on their small herb garden and was a lovely place to relax.

"Oh yeah," Ginny said, reaching for a scone, "It was unbelievable, like a castle, only more interesting. It was like a work of art."

"What do you mean?" Orla said, before placing some of the oregano she had been picking on the cane table. 

Ginny thought back to the angular arches and towers of the mansion, jutting out across the dark sky. "It seemed to, well-this sounds quite ridiculous really- but at times, it seemed to almost have it's own personality. There was this enormous, sinister looking castle in the middle of gorgeous countryside. It looked so out of place, yet at the same time it seemed to command the space. There seemed to be this immense power in the very architecture of the building, it was disturbing, but beautiful at the same time."

Colin smiled. "That's very poetic Gin, but what _I _want to know is if you found any dirty secrets on Malfoy, like a stash of naughty magazines under his bed or something."

"No, Colin," Ginny laughed, "Unfortunately there were no naughty magazines or other dirty secrets to be found. Malfoy lived a life of exceeding wealth and comfort, which we already knew anyway. Though I must admit, I was quite overwhelmed by the very scale of their riches."

Orla, who had just gotten up from her nap and was having a brief drink before heading back to the club, sipped thoughtfully at her juice. "If Malfoy's not dead, I wonder how he's coping without his satin sheets and caviar," she mused.

Ginny sat up straight in her chair. "You know, that's exactly what I've been thinking and the more I saw of the Malfoy Manor, the more it reinforced this idea in my head. Wherever Malfoy is, I can't ever see him roughing it. He must be getting money from somewhere," Ginny pulled her knees up to her chest in a thinking position. "He hasn't accessed his Wizarding bank accounts for over two years, and he couldn't have taken much from the Malfoy safe because Wilberforce told me that it was filled to the brim with gold. It's weird, it's like he's actually disappeared off the face of the planet. I mean he's not exactly inconspicuous, everyone in the Wizarding world would instantly be able to recognize him."

Colin leaned forward. "Maybe that's it, maybe he's not in the Wizarding world anymore," he said, a note of excitement in his voice. 

Orla snorted. "Oh and where would he be then Colin? Living among Muggles? Draco Malfoy? You can't be serious, he couldn't survive- he hates Muggles more than anything in the world."

"Desperate times sometimes call for desperate measures," Ginny said, "I think Malfoy would rather live with Muggles than have to live in substandard conditions. He really is that pretentious. Comfort and luxury are everything to the Malfoys."

"Malfoy the Muggle," Orla said shaking her head, "Now there is something I'd like to see,"

Colin flicked a strand of hair from his eyes. "The thing is, Gin, even if he is hiding out in the Muggle world, chances of finding him without some kind of lead are pretty slim. There are so many more places to hide out there."

Ginny nodded. "You're right of course, but I think I may have a lead." Ginny reached behind her to where she had dumped her bag and pulled out the folder Wilberforce had given her.

"Colin, you have a Muggle bank account don't you?" she asked, pulling out the sheet of paper with Malfoy's bank details on it.

"Yes, two in fact."

Ginny handed him the sheet of paper. "You see that number in the left hand corner. Does that look at all like the number for your accounts?" Colin looked at it, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "You know what? I think it just might."

"Really?" Ginny said excitedly, she hadn't really expected her half-formed idea to be successful. "Are you sure?"

"Well, the Wizarding bank account numbers are a lot shorter than this number, as there are a lot less of them. My account number is quite like this." Colin grabbed the last scone off the plate. "Don't you have a cousin who is an accountant or something? Wouldn't they be able to help?" 

Ginny stared at him. _Why didn't I think of that?_ "Of course! You're a genius Colin."

Colin shrugged modestly. "I try."

Ginny jumped out of her seat and ran inside to the Muggle telephone they kept in the house that enabled Colin to keep in touch with his family. She got out her address book and found the phone number of Alfred J. Houndsworth, Ginny's second cousin and only Muggle relative. She had only met him a few times, but the Weasleys tried to keep regular contact with him, if only to have a link to the Muggle world, for, as nice as he was, the old chap was more than a bit dull. She looked at the number in the book and then at the numbers on the phone pad.

"Ah, Colin," she called out sheepishly, she still wasn't quite used to these Muggle devices. "I just have to type this number in and I will be able to hear the other person, that's right isn't it?"

"Yes Gin, and remember not to speak too loudly," he called from the backyard.

"Here goes then," she mumbled, clumsily typing in the numbers. There was the odd ringing noise that she remembered from the other few times she had used it and then-

"Good Afternoon, Anderson's Accounting, Alfred Houndsworth speaking."

"Oh, ah, yes, hello Alfred, it's um, it's Ginny Weasley here," Ginny stuttered.

"Ginny Weasley?" he repeated. "Oh! You're one of Arthur Weasley's lot aren't you?"

"Yes that's right, the youngest and only girl."

"Of course, of course, I remember now. Well, if this isn't a surprise, what can I, er, do for you Ginny?" 

Ginny twisted the phone cord around her fingers. "I was hoping you could tell me something about Muggle, I mean, ah, your bank accounts."

"My bank accounts?"

"Well, not yours specifically, but- well the thing is, I have an account number, or at least I think it is an account number, it may not be, I mean for all I know it could just be some random number, but anyway on the slight chance that it may be an account number, I was hoping you'd know how to help. Maybe you'd know how to find out what bank it's from."

"Ok," Alfred said and Ginny could hear some rapid tapping in the background. "Tell me what you've got."

She would look back on her conversation with Alfred J. Houndsworth later and admire his efficiency. _Muggle accountants must have a lot of power and be really well respected people in the community_, Ginny mused. He had managed to locate an account with those details in Switzerland and had promised to call back when he could find out details of ownership and last withdrawal. Ginny felt a tingle of anticipation settle in the pit of her stomach and warned herself to not get her hopes up. _This could easily fall through, who knows who owns this account or even if he does own it, why would he still use it if he thought the Ministry might be able to trace him through it._ Even while these spurts of logic were mulling around her mind, Ginny couldn't shake the feeling that she was onto something. The truth was that no one had even considered that Malfoy would venture into the Muggle world as it went against everything he and his family stood for. But what if he had; it would explain his virtual disappearance from the Wizarding world and his mysterious source of funds. And, if he hadn't been using magic, then locator spells wouldn't have been able to trace him. Ginny was weighing up these possibilities when the phone rang, startling her out of her thoughts.

"Ah, hello?" she said tentatively into the receiver.

"Ginny?" Alfred replied.

"Yes, it's Ginny. Is that Alfred?"

"It is. Now listen Ginny, I've found some rather interesting stuff about this account. You were in luck as my old friend Enid, whom I knew from University, still works at Credit Suisse and she was able to look up this information for me. I had to use a bit of cunning, told her I was checking out the legitimacy of a prospective client. Oh, it was all quite exciting," Alfred said breathlessly.

"I'm sure it was, now about the account," Ginny prompted.

"Oh yes, well the account it is owned by a Floyd Maroca, residence United Kingdom. Does this help at all?"

Ginny considered this. _Obviously he's not going to use his real name, but could this be him?_ "Uh, how do you spell that, Alfred?" she asked, reaching for a pad of paper and the pen that lay near the phone.

"F-l-o-y-d M-a-r-o-c-a"

Ginny jotted this down. "Ok, and when and where was the last withdrawal?"

"December the 27th, nine o'clock and it was taken from an automatic teller in St Petersburg. Oh, but sometimes the information in the database can take up to two weeks to update." 

"Right, well thanks for the info Alfred, I really owe you one," she said as she replaced the lid of the pen.

"You're welcome Ginny, do you think it will be of any use?"

"I can't really say now, but thanks anyway, you've been a great help."

"It was no problem, say hello to your parents for me," Alfred said kindly.

"Will do. Thanks again Alfred," Ginny said before hanging the receiver back on its cradle.

"Well?' Colin, who had come up behind her, said impatiently.

Ginny looked at the scrap of paper in her hand. "Floyd Maroca," she said with a laugh, "What kind of a name is that?"

"Can I've a look?" Colin said reaching for the paper. He stared intently at the paper for a second, and then grabbed the pen that was sitting on the table and scribbled something next to the name. "Oh my God," he breathed.

"What?" Ginny asked looking over his shoulder.

"I think," Colin said excitedly, "I think Malfoy may have done a Tom Marvolo Riddle." 

"Huh?" Ginny said blankly.

"Here," Colin said pointing at the paper, "Rearrange Floyd Maroca and what do you get?"

Ginny looked at the name and then at Colin. "Draco Malfoy," she whispered. "You get Draco Malfoy!" She laughed and threw her arms around a startled Colin. "This is unbelievable." She looked at the paper once more and shook her head. "Remind me again why I'm the Auror?" Colin shrugged, grinning widely. "What can I say? I have my moments."

"Mate, I owe you one, well more than one really."

"We'll work out a repayment plan later," he said throwing his arm around her shoulder, "Now though, you have to work out what you're going to do."

"What I'm going to do?" she echoed. "Well, it looks like I'm going to Russia."


	4. Chapter 2

The Stained Glass Idyll – Chapter 2 

By Ellipsis and Shiva.  
Rating: R  
Disclaimer: Most of this isn't ours. Some of it is. We are making no money. Steal and _die_!  
Warnings: Angst, violence, torture, drug abuse, coarse language, adult themes and situations.  
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley  
Story Summary: Ginny Weasley has watched Harry Potter save the world time and time again and wondered what it would be like. Draco Malfoy has watched the same and wished he could be the one to end Potter's winning streak. Ginny wants to make her mark on the world, Draco looses himself in the last place anyone would ever look for him.   
Then Ginny accepts an assignment to hunt down the most dangerous Death Eater at large and when circumstances intervene she begins to realise that it may not be a world she needs to save.  
Additional Notes: Um, yeah. Sorry about the wait. *slinks off*

* * * * * * * * *

It was dark outside; darker than it should be, considering the sun hadn't set, but heavy clouds covered the sky and promised rain. Draco, sitting on the bed in a bungalow in Vanuatu, didn't care about the sky outside. His concentration was directed elsewhere.

He had been released from hospital a few days ago, after only a one-night stay, with heavy bandaging around his ribcage and sixteen stitches in his abdomen. The doctor had admonished him to return after a week to have the stitches removed, but he was disinclined to endure another round of good intentions and probing questions. So, instead, Draco was attempting to remove the stitches himself.

Although the bed was possibly not the wisest place to remove stitches, it was comfortable. He was sitting propped up against the headboard, using the ambient light to see the stitches he was trying to remove with a pair of nail scissors. 

It was attempt that seemed doomed to failure. It had taken him ten minutes to remove the first one, and he was having trouble keeping his hand steady. The strain of holding his body in one position for so long was starting to cause his arm muscles to spasm. He hissed quietly as the scissors tore at the stitches. He tried hard not to let his hand wobble but in spite of his efforts, it did, and the sharp point of the scissors dipped briefly into the healing wound.

Draco scowled. He would not give in. He was not so useless that he couldn't do anything for himself! With renewed vigour, he attacked the stitches, distracting himself from the pain by biting his lip. It was a different kind of pain, a kind he could control.

Finally, after another hour, the last stitch was out. Draco looked at the wound, now punctuated with pinprick points of blood. He knew it would scar, but he didn't care. It was not his first scar, nor his worst.

Getting carefully up from the bed, he walked gingerly into the kitchenette and rummaged for some food. Predictably, it was virtually empty. He pulled out an old Chinese takeaway container out and opened it up. Whatever had been in there was definitely off. He tossed it in the bin. There were a couple of mini bottles of alcohol on the countertop. He knocked back a cognac, not even wincing at the sinus-clearing afterbite.

Giving up on the idea of eating, he pulled a slightly-squashed packet of cigarettes out of his back pocket and lit one. He took a long drag, then grabbed his room key and left the apartment. 

It was a very short walk down to the beach. He hadn't put any shoes on when he left the bungalow and the damp sand was rough beneath his feet.

At this time of day, and with a storm brewing, the beach was vast and deserted. In the darkness it seemed to stretch forever. As soon as he had left the shelter of the hotel compound, the wind had slammed into him with the kind of force only found on tropical beaches. It reminded him of flying. He hadn't been on a broomstick in over two years, and he hadn't played Quidditch since his Hogwarts days.

Draco's eyes narrowed. It was hard to think of Quidditch without thinking of Harry Potter.

Harry Potter, who was, as Aidan had so charmingly put it, alive, breathing and in full possession of his fingers. Of course, it was only a matter of time until Draco rectified that little piece of injustice. 

Draco amused himself for a while imagining capturing Granger, , , strangling her, and forcing Potter to watch. The worthless wonderboy didn't have any proper family, but Draco thought that murdering a friend would be a suitable revenge. It almost invoke in Potter the same pain that watching his father die had caused Draco. 

But, if and when Draco actually got a chance to strike at Potter, he would have to do so fast.. His only satisfaction would be a flash of green light.

Draco's hand crept up to his neck and found the chain he always wore. He followed the chain until he reached the oval pendant dangling from it. At least he didn't have to worry about that. 

Ah now… what a pity that they had already killed Lupin. He could imagine the look on Potter's face if he had forced to watch what Draco and his father had done to the werewolf before they had sent him in care packages to Potter's doorstep.

It had begun to rain. Draco, uncaring, stood like that for a long time, lost in his hollow fantasies, holding the pendant and staring out to sea, until he was thoroughly drenched.

* * * * * * * * *

Ginny sat in the vinyl airplane chair and fiddled nervously with her seatbelt. The International Floo System was still being rebuilt after the war and it did not reach the more remote parts of the world, hence Ginny was forced to take the Muggle alternative. Outside the jet the sky was bleak, though not threatening—similar weather to the rest of her brief stay in St Petersburg. And it truly had been brief. She had barely stepped off the plane when she received an owl from Kingsley, notifying her that someone in St. Petersburg had information on Malfoy and was willing to meet with her. The tone of the letter was decidedly cynical; Kingsley seemed to think that this informant, a former Death Eater by the name of Tybalt Mephisto, was simply trying to curry favour with the Ministry and that his information was to be treated with severe caution. Still, a lead was a lead, and Ginny was thrilled to have it, as she hadn't quite been sure what she was going to do upon reaching Russia. The letter had instructed her that a meeting with Mephisto had been set up for her at seven o'clock the night after she arrived. A member of the Russian Ministry of Magic was waiting for her at the airport to guide her to the wizarding community in St Petersburg, which was surprisingly small for a city with so much history. She checked into a quaint hotel on the main street, which looked much like Diagon Alley apart from an elaborate fountain that stood at the top of the street. Her room was small but comfortable, with a large fire that kept the room at a pleasant temperature. She used her spare time to sort through her notes on Malfoy, as well as search the Ministry database for any information on Mephisto, she wanted to be as prepared as possible for their meeting. From the long lists of offences that appeared on his criminal record, it was obvious he was one unsavory character and Ginny knew she would have to watch her back.

At five minutes past seven the next evening, she pushed open the wooden door of a dank restaurant and stepped inside. At once she was hit with the rank smell of stale cigarettes and alcohol; this place was the epitome of seedy. She evaluated the scene before her: a few couples sitting at secluded candle-lit tables (why you'd go to a place like this for a romantic dinner, Ginny did not know) and a rowdy table of middle-aged men, talking in rapid Russian, in the centre of the room. A dimly-lit bar was situated in the corner and, on one of the stools, a thin man with a greasy black ponytail and a heavy coat sat with his back to her. 

__

It's show time. 

She walked to the bar and sat herself next to him. "Just a water please," she told the barman, who nodded and served her water in a glass that looked suspiciously grimy.

"Water?" the man next to her said in a slow and deliberate voice, not looking up from his glass. "This is Russia, honey. It's vodka or nothing." 

He was unnaturally thin and pale, looking like he had never seen the sun, nor had a decent meal in his entire life. This, as well as his tightly stretched skin and dark, hollow eyes made his age impossible to determine.

"You're not drinking vodka," she remarked, gesturing to his glass of lager.

He looked up at her for the first time, with large hollow eyes, and licked his cracked lips. "I'm not Russian," he muttered, looking Ginny up and down in a way that made her decidedly uncomfortable, despite the fact that she was wearing a bulky winter coat over several other layers of clothing. "Weasley, right?" he said, turning his attention back to his drink.

"Yes," she said coolly, determined to establish the upper hand in their encounter. "Mephisto, right?"

He nodded and took another swig of his glass.

"So," Ginny said expectantly, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, "What have you got for me?"

Mephisto's eyes traveled slowly down her body, a twisted smile forming on his thin lips. "I've got a whole lot for you, sweetheart… a _whole lot_."

Ginny threw him an icy glare and suppressed a shudder. "I'd watch it if I were you; I know you're banking on this information to win you some favors over at the Ministry and I'm _not_ in a patient mood."

Mephisto rolled his eyes and drained his glass before leaning his elbows on the bar. He rested his chin on his linked hands and looked up at her from beneath his black eyebrows, as if she were an impatient child.

"Now," Ginny said, with more bravado than she was feeling, "how 'bout you give me the information on Malfoy, or I'm leaving."

He let out an exaggerated sigh. "All right, all right, keep your pants on," he muttered as he reached into the pocket of his heavy black coat, pulled out a small notebook and threw it on the counter. "I've been in St Petersburg for about a month now, sorting out some, er, business."

Ginny shuddered to think of the sorts of business this creep got involved in.

"I first saw Malfoy about a week ago and knew he was wanted by the Ministry, so I started to follow him. I took notes too; they're all in that book."

Ginny picked up the book and flipped through it. It was full of scrawling sentences such as "_10.25 am- Malfoy buys coffee_" and "_11.03 pm- Malfoy returns to hotel_". She put the notebook back on the counter and surveyed Mephisto carefully. He was, without a doubt, one of the most revolting people she had ever met; yet there was a silent desperation beneath all the grease and oil of his outward appearance that suggested he might just be telling the truth. 

"As fascinating as Malfoy's daily schedule is, it doesn't help me a whole lot. Where is he now?"

Mephisto blinked, looking unsure of himself for the first time. "I'm not sure," he said.

Ginny stared at him in utter disbelief. "You're not sure?" she hissed. "You've been stalking him nonstop for a week—which, can I just say, is more than a little creepy—and now you're _not sure_ where he is?" 

Mephisto reached into his pocket and pulled out an expensive-looking packet of cigarettes. "I had to attend to some other matters, and when I came back he had checked out of his hotel," he said as he carefully chose a cigarette and lit it.

Ginny threw her hands in the air. "Well, that's bloody brilliant," she cried, shaking her head.

Mephisto picked up the notebook and turned to the last page. "Here are the details I got from the hotel," he said, thumping the page with his open palm.

Ginny looked at them and then back at Mephisto. "But how am I supposed to find him?"

He threw some rubles onto the bar and got up to leave. "You're the Auror," he said, leaning over her so his face was inches from hers and she could smell the cigarette smoke on his breath. "You figure it out." With that he walked purposefully out of the restaurant, coat billowing behind him. 

Thankfully, she _had_ managed to figure it out, as Malfoy had booked his tickets under the pseudonym 'Marco Folday', another anagram. It was an easy enough pattern to follow and really quite careless of Malfoy to be so obvious. 

__

Perhaps he's not the criminal mastermind we originally thought he was. 

So, after two short days in Russia, she was seated in the economy class of a Muggle airplane, headed for a small island somewhere off the east coast of Australia. According to the information Ginny had gathered, Malfoy had arrived there a week ago after a roundabout trip, stopping at Tokyo and Australia. It was unfortunate that this information hadn't come through the Muggle banking system when she had talked to Albert; it would have saved her a lot of legwork. Luckily, however, Malfoy had used the same airline for each flight, making him easier to trace. Not that getting the information had been terribly easy; she had been forced to visit the airline's ticketing office and use her Magi-tronic reader, a newly developed device that could, in an instant, tap into Muggle computers and gather information on a certain subject. When the reader didn't find any information on 'Floyd Maroca, she tried a variety of other anagrams. This meant she had to keep revisiting the counter in order to get the reader, which she had transfigured to look like an ordinary pen, close enough to the computer to work its magic. After making the attendant believe she was a complete idiot (which in Ginny's opinion, was not far from the truth), she found what she was looking for and booked herself on the next flight to Vanuatu. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please take your seats and fasten your seatbelts as the cabin crew prepares for takeoff," the pilot chirped over the plane's sound system.

As this message was repeated in several different languages, Ginny resumed fiddling with her seatbelt and looked anxiously out the window. She hoped the low cloud cover would not equate to heavy turbulence; she hated turbulence. In fact, she hated flying in general, even though she had only been on a plane a handful of times. It was one of those Muggle things she would never understand and she would have rather taken her broom, if only it weren't such a long journey. 

Attempting to calm the butterflies in her stomach, she looked over the in-flight magazine. The plane started down the runway as Ginny read about the variety of wines on offer to first-class passengers; as the plane took off and she dropped the magazine, gripping her knuckles into her armrest, she began to think that she could use a glass of Chardonnay herself. Eventually the plane straightened out and Ginny's heart rate returned to normal. Breathing a sigh of relief, she looked out the window. They were high above the clouds now, surrounded by nothing but blue sky. She settled back in her chair and let her eyes close. It would be best if she got some sleep; she had a big couple of days in front of her. 

* * * * * * * * *

Draco wandered into the bar. He didn't usually visit at this time but he hadn't felt like doing anything else. A breeze whipped his hair around his face as he pushed open the door, but it was no longer long enough to annoy him. A nurse had trimmed it for him the day he was released from hospital. He had asked for a crew cut, but she had refused.

He made his way over to the bar to order a cocktail. As the barmaid was pouring it, the remarked casually, "There was a girl in here looking for you."

Draco tensed minutely.

"Indeed," he replied noncommittally.

"Pretty enough, I suppose. Red, curly hair, pale skin. Freckles. She said she was your fiancée and asked where you were staying."

"And what did you tell her?"

"I don't know where you're staying, do I? I told her that you are usually here at about seven. She said she'd come back."

Without another word, Draco turned and strode out the door, leaving his drink untouched.

Standing outside the bar, he checked his watch. It was 5:10 pm, though it seemed later because the sky was leaden with ominous-looking storm clouds. On a fine day it would to be light at this time, and the sun would be well above the horizon. He pulled his black sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on. 

He wanted to see this woman who claimed to be his fiancée. Since she certainly wasn't what she pretended to be, there were two options. Either she was an angry Death Eater out for his blood, or she was a Ministry flunky out for his blood. Either way, he thought he could handle her.

Draco felt warm. His fingers were tingling and his blood was hammering through his veins, making his vision swim. It took him a moment to realise that he was angry. Very, very angry. He hadn't been enraged for a while, not since he left England, certainly. Yet apparently, a chin-high woman was parading around the town like she wasn't after the most dangerous Death Eater still at large. Draco was actually insulted. This was all that whoever sent her had thought would be necessary to catch him?

Draco stalked down the path. The sudden movement jerked at his injured side, but he ignored the flash of pain. As he walked, he distractedly pulled out a cigarette. As he took a long drag, he considered what to do with this insulting flunky.

Although his first instinct had been to be rather offended, he now wondered at it. He would not have been an easy man to track. He had left the Wizarding world without a trace. He had never visited anyone, never used magic, never taken any of the gold hidden deep in the bowels of Malfoy Manor. Yet someone had come looking for him. Obviously she had either gotten very lucky or someone had tattled. Draco was betting on the latter, and he was betting on either Ellivia or Tybalt.

Draco unlocked the door to his suite and went inside. Striding to the CD player, he flicked it on, causing the familiar strains of Tartini's Sonata in G Minor, also known as the Devil's Trill, to fill the room.

Draco let his anger drain slowly away into the music, replacing it with cold-blooded calculation. He resolved to be very careful with this person. She could be smarter than she sounded. He would come back, as the woman would expect him to. Then they would see.

* * * * * * * * *

As the sun set over Port Vila, Ginny sat cross-legged on her bed and flipped through her Ministry-issued book of Glamours. She had only been there for a few days, but was easily settling into things. Luckily, she never experienced severe jet lag and always managed to adjust well to new places, a handy attribute in a profession such as hers. She had spent the first few days checking out the major hotels and bars, feeling quite conspicuous with her fair skin, red hair and accent; it was ridiculously obvious that she was a tourist. Her persistence had paid off, however, as one of the bartenders at the _Iririki_ resort, an amazing 69 acre resort situated on a private island only three minutes from the center of Port Vila, when told that Draco was her runaway fiancée, recognised a picture of him and informed her that he visited the bar regularly each night. This news delighted Ginny, and it was now only a matter of finding the right disguise for her appearance at the bar that evening. She was not planning on doing anything spectacular, just talk to him and gather a sense of where he was staying and how long he was going to be here for. She didn't want to lose him again.

So, there she sat, in her cheap bungalow, with a small pocket-sized book of Glamours in her lap. There was quite a selection, pages and pages of glossy photographs of all sorts of women (and men, but Ginny was fairly sure Malfoy didn't swing that way).

__

But who would Malfoy go for?

"Bingo," she cried as she reached Glamour number thirty-eight. 

She pulled out the cartridge and placed the tip of her wand in the designated groove. Saying the quick spell, she felt the odd tingling sensation that accompanied the transformation wash dizzyingly over her. After a few seconds she looked down at her hands, now a light mocha colour, and smiled. It had worked as well as she had hoped. She walked over to the full-length mirror that stood next to the dressing table to check out her newly acquired appearance.

"Cor," she said to herself, admiring her reflection, "I am _so_ hot!"

Her unruly red mane had been replaced by glossy black hair that hung just past her shoulders in loose waves, her pale, freckly skin had become smooth and glistening, the colour of hot chocolate and her eyes had narrowed slightly and lightened to a cornflower blue. Razor-sharp cheekbones, full lips and a body to die for finished off the look to perfection. The only thing that wasn't quite right was her clothes. A short cotton skirt and top may have been fine for Ginny Weasley, but Glamour number 38 needed something much more exotic. Luckily she had foreseen this and had raided Orla's clubbing wardrobe before she left.

She rustled through her suitcase until she found what she was looking for. It was a midnight blue top (well, as tiny piece of material attached by several pieces of string that Orla had assured her was a actually a top), with a slight silver shimmer. Paired with a short black skirt that her mother would never let her out of the house in and black strappy stilettos, it was the perfect man-hunting outfit. 

Once she was dressed (it took her three attempts to get the top on correctly), she quickly ran a brush through her impossibly shiny hair and applied a lip-reddening charm. Ginny surveyed her reflection in the mirror, quite surprised as to just how good she looked. 

__

So this is what it's like to be beautiful, huh? I could get used to this.

Satisfied, she flashed the mirror a heart-breaking smile and flounced out of the room on her ridiculously long legs.

Walking along the main street of Port Villa, she could feel the Muggles' eyes on her. Admittedly she quite enjoyed the attention, but at the same time was wary of being too conspicuous and was thankful when, at a quarter past seven exactly, she boarded the rickety old ferry that would take her across the crystal blue inlet to the Iriki Resort. The boat puttered along the water, leaving a trail of bubbles that disturbed the otherwise glassy surface as it headed towards the glittering mass of lights that was the resort. Breathing in the fragrant air, heavy with humidity, Ginny stepped off the ferry as it pulled up to a small pier. The island was beautiful. Small lights glittered in the row of palm trees that bordered the path leading up to the bar and everywhere she looked there were beautiful and exotic flowers. A small drop of water hit her shoulder and she hurried up to the bar so as not to get caught in one of Vanuatu's frequent tropical downpours. 

She walked through the glass doors into a glittering marble room, buzzing with exquisitely dressed people. Her heels clicked on the polished floor as she walked across the room to the bar entrance. It was a large area, half of which was made into a restaurant while the other half was the bar—a gleaming room with stainless steel bar tops and tall stools, lined with enormous floor to ceiling windows that showed off the spectacular South Pacific views. Ginny quickly ordered a white wine and surveyed the room for her prey. It wasn't hard to find him, all slender and blond, his fingers lazily wrapped around a green cocktail. Her heart quickened at the sight of him, she honestly hadn't thought finding him would be this simple. His posture had not changed; she had watched him in the Great Hall all those years ago sit exactly the same way, with an effortless grace and particular carelessness. He looked like he owned the place. 

Screwing up her courage she made a beeline for the empty stool that stood beside him. She carefully arranged herself on the seat so that one of her long legs dangled mere inches from his and turned to face him. She froze and held back a gasp. The man sitting next to her was the single most attractive man she had ever been fortunate enough to lay her eyes on. This man was _stunning_. Draco Malfoy always had been reasonably blessed in the looks department, even back in their Hogwarts days; but the sharpness of those cheekbones, the depth of those eyes and the softness of that hair was not something she had expected. She swallowed quietly and attempted to regain focus.

"Hi," she said breathily, pushing a strand of hair back from her face.

Malfoy raised his head for the first time, hitting her with the full force of his icy stare, looked her up and down with clear disdain and returned to his drink. "Hi," he said, the note of boredom unmistakable in his voice.

__

Hmm, not exactly the reaction I was after.

She swung her leg so it softly brushed against his. "Crazy weather, isn't it?" 

Malfoy shrugged, but looked up at the window.

"I've only been here a little while so I'm still getting used to the sudden tropical storms." She leant over him and plucked the umbrella from his drink, playfully twirling it between her fingers. Malfoy looked at her, then to his umbrella-less drink, then back to her.

"You took my umbrella," he said in disbelief.

Ginny smiled flirtatiously, glad to finally have his attention.

"Put it back."

She stopped twirling. "What?"

He fixed her with a steely glaze, a mean glint in his ice blue eyes. "Put the umbrella back."

Not quite believing how this conversation was going, she dropped the umbrella back into his half-empty glass.

She sighed loudly, opting for a different tactic. "I love the rain," she purred.

There was no response.

"What about you, Draco? Do you love the rain?" she asked, taking a sip of her wine.

He looked out the window briefly and shrugged. There was a moment of silence before, to Ginny's surprise, he drained the rest of his cocktail and slammed the glass on the bar top. She watched in horror as he stood up to leave, putting his suit coat over his dark grey shirt.

__

Oh my God, I'm going to lose him! 

He took a few steps before turning back to her.

"You coming?" he said, eyes glinting strangely in the dim light.

Ginny raised her eyebrows in surprise, before jumping off the stool, grabbing her bag and following him out of the restaurant.

"Where are we going," she asked breathlessly.

"Away from here," he muttered.

Malfoy strode purposefully through the foyer and Ginny had to struggle to keep up. He pushed open one of the glass doors and went down one of the side paths.

"Hey hold up! I'm walking in stilettos, you know!" Ginny exclaimed.

But just then Malfoy rounded on her, grabbing her by the neck and pushing her against the hotel wall. Ginny gave a strangled cry as the cement, wet from rain, pushed painfully against her bare shoulders.

"Right," Malfoy said in a vicious whisper, his face pushed close to hers so she could smell the rum on his breath, "Who the fuck are you and how do you know my name?"

The combination of the pounding of her own heart and Malfoy's vice-like grip on her throat rendered her unable to speak, but her mind was reeling. Malfoy's knee was pushed hard between her legs and she could feel the heat of his anger pulsating off him in violent waves. The pupils of his eyes had contracted alarmingly and his mouth was twisted into an ugly snarl. She let out a gasp for breath as the grip on her neck tightened. Malfoy pushed his body hard against hers, crushing her against the cement and cutting of her breath entirely. Her vision began to blur at the edges just as an unfamiliar female voice came from behind them.

"Well, isn't this romantic?" the voice said, laughingly, obviously mistaking their position for something decidedly less violent.

Ginny saw a brief flash of surprise in Malfoy's eyes before he released her neck and slowly turned to face the stranger.

"Hello Aunty, long time no see," he said blandly, but with an undertone of venom.

The woman lit her wand, throwing the confused scene into bright relief, and Ginny's heart dropped. Standing before her, with her trademark raven hair and dagger sharp cheekbones, was Bellatrix Lestrange, the dangerous former Death Eater who had fallen from Voldemort's grace during the Second War. The tall broad shouldered man next to her was undoubtedly her husband, Rodolphus Lestrange.

"Oh, it has been too long, Draco darling, it truly has. I would have invited you to last years Christmas gathering, but I just didn't know where to send the invitation to, what with you being in hiding and all!" she smiled sweetly, running a long finger down Malfoy's arm that caused him to flinch and pull away. "Never mind, we shall have _plenty_ of time to catch up." She made a signal to her husband, who shot ropes out of his wand that efficiently snaked around Malfoy's wrists.

Bellatrix then turned her attention to Ginny, who was standing behind Malfoy, partly obscured from view.

"Now, aren't you a pretty little thing?" she said with a smile that made the blood run cold in Ginny's veins. "Pity I'll have to kill you."

She rose her wand and Ginny's heart jumped.

"No!" she cried. "You can't kill me!"

Bellatrix smirked, the same smirk her nephew had perfected many years ago. "Oh? And why is that?" she said mockingly.

Ginny looked around desperately as a wild thought popped into her head. "You can't kill me because… because I'm Draco's girlfriend!"

Without thinking she grabbed the front of Malfoy's shirt and pushed her lips to his. She felt his body freeze briefly before he opened his mouth to hers. His hands, still bound, balled into fists, but hung loosely by his side as she instinctively reached out to touch the nape of his neck where his damp hair curled slightly.

Bellatrix cleared her throat. "Yes, alright, you made your point," she said coolly.

Ginny's eyes snapped open and she jumped away from Malfoy, who was staring at her with narrowed eyes.

"Fine, I won't kill you just yet. You may come in handy," Bellatrix said, flicking her hair over her shoulders.

At her signal Rodolphus shot another set of ropes at Ginny that wound tightly around her wrists. She gasped as the magical binds burnt a cold, white pain into her skin. How Malfoy could look so unaffected she did not know. 

Bellatrix and her husband were in whispered conference when she felt Malfoy's eyes on her. She looked up at him, surprised to see a sardonic smile on his lips.

"What?" she spat, glaring up at him.

"That was a big mistake," he said almost gleefully.

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?"

He looked her up and down for the second time that night and shook his head, causing a single strand of damp hair to fall in his eyes. "Once they're finished with you, you'll wish they had killed you."

* * * * * * * * *

Draco came-to when an invasive wand poked him in the cheek and a voice muttered, "Enervate."

That girl had kissed him. He remembered that instantly.

And well… that had been a shock. He had stood passive, analysing as she desperately brought a hand up to touch the nape of his neck. Then he started feeling something uncoil, viscerally rooted, snaking up his spine until it reached his brain and burst like a bomb, flooding his body with adrenaline. His heart started racing and, hardly knowing what he was doing, he had returned the kiss, taking control of her desperate action and absorbing it, as if he were trying to suck out her soul.

She had caught him looking at her, and he sneered and said something intended to terrify her.

This action had been his last for a while, because a flash of blue-tinged light had blinded him and he blacked out.

Now, beside him, the girl was being similarly brought to her senses. She immediately felt for her wand and Bellatrix Lestrange, standing over her, smiled. 

"We've got it now, dearie," she said, patting a voluminous pocket in her robes. "And don't think to try any wandless magic either. Once you step through this door, the entire compound is warded as tight as the Dark Lord's lavatory. No magic at all will work."

Draco noticed the girl was starting to panic. He couldn't rouse himself to care. She had, after all, gotten herself into this situation.

They were in a dark, underground cellar. The walls were cement with wooden supporting beams.

Rodolphus Lestrange, on his wife's instructions, poked the girl in the back with his wand, forcing her to precede him out the door.

Bellatrix approached Draco and did the same.

"Gently, Aunty," he said sardonically as her wand jabbed one of his healing ribs.

They walked a short distance and up a flight of stairs and were suddenly in a much more lavish part of the building. The walls were covered with silk and the floors were covered in lush red carpet. Every few steps there was an expensive looking antique. 

Eventually, they were ordered to enter another room. This room was clearly a guest suite, comprising of three rooms, as far as he could see. They stood in the middle of the living room, which was as opulent as the hallway. The walls were hung with tapestries and paintings and the couch and divan in one corner looked both expensive and comfortable.

Bellatrix smiled and gave them a mocking curtsey. "We will leave you two to get yourselves settled."

Then she and Rodolphus left the room and Draco heard the click of several locks being turned in the door.

Draco turned to look at his companion in captivity and noticed something odd. The girl, he was certain, had been a lot shorter moments ago. Not only that, but she had been darker and thinner, and had had black hair. Now it was long, curly and firey red; a very familiar colour.

"Fuck," he said. "You're a Weasley."

The Weasley obviously decided to brazen it out. "What if I am?"

Draco grinned ferally. "Well, nothing darling, but it makes everything _so much_ more interesting. "So, what's your name? I expect you know mine since you have, presumably, been hunting me for quite a while. No wait, let me guess." 

He paced in a circle around her.

"You're the Weasel's little sister, right? Hm… Granger? No, that was the mudblood. Ginger? Gina? Oh, I know. It's Ginny." 

Ginny nodded stiffly.

"So, little Ginny Weasley went hunting for the big bad wolf."

Although his tone was light, his expression, eyes narrowed and glinting, made it obvious just how annoyed he was. He recalled the little Weasley, now that he thought about it. She had been at Hogwarts with him, but that wasn't all. There was something else about her he should remember.

"Ah," he said softly, with an edge of menace. "The bat bogeys hex in fifth year." Was that what he had been trying to remember?

Ginny looked uneasy.

"Oh this is too precious," Draco continued. "My aunt has kidnapped me, dragged me who-knows-where and immured me in a suite with one of the fucking Weasleys. Well, you're in for a rough ride, little Weasley. I wasn't lying when I said they'd make you wish you were dead."

Ginny flushed at this and began: "If you think—"

She stopped. Draco looked over at her and she was looking at the door. Finally he heard the telltale clicks that meant the locks were opening.

The door opened and through it swept Bellatrix and Rodolphus.

Bellatrix smiled when she saw Ginny. "So I see your glamour finally wore off. We knew, of course, that you were wearing one, but we didn't know what you actually looked like."

Her eyes swept over Ginny's red hair and freckles and her lip curled. "A Weasley? Draco, where _are_ your standards?"

Draco looked at her coldly and didn't reply. Ginny made a hissing noise deep in her throat.

Bellatrix shrugged delicately and turned. "Come in," she said to the door.

It opened a bit wider and through it stepped two figures, a male and a female. Draco recognised them, of course.

"Ellivia and Aidan, a _pleasure_ to meet you again so soon," Draco's tone was loaded with sarcasm. "And I suppose you're the ones who tipped Miss Teen Spy here off to my presence, aren't you?"

Ginny protested angrily that she was only a year younger than he was.

Ellivia frowned. "Why would we do that?"

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow and laughed. "Miss Teen Spy? Oh Draco, you're so _adorable_!"

"So," Draco said with a sigh, "What do you want with me?"

"Well," said Bellatrix. "I want the gold under Malfoy Manor and he—" she pointed to Aidan "—wants the key that can get me it."

Draco smirked. "You can never get that off me, Aunty."

Bellatrix smiled and glanced at Ginny. "We'll see."


End file.
